


Podsnezhnik

by Raisincookies



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky is a father, Conditioning, Escaped, Gen, Hiding from Avengers, Original Character(s), Post-HYDRA Reveal, Runaway, Short One Shot, Super Soldier Serum, Teenager
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 11:36:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21301421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisincookies/pseuds/Raisincookies
Summary: A secret Hydra bunker existed with a number of other soldier, most were caught and only one remained missing.  A teenage assassin, a trained killer, a daughter of one of the first super-soldiers.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Podsnezhnik

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short one shot, random idea which was bouncing around my brain.

It was a frigid evening in mid-December; the drizzling rain of Portland, Oregon hung like a perpetual vail in the air and gave the world a theatrically ethereal glow. Twinkling fairy lights from decorations which festooned the outside of shops and cafes blurred as they draped themselves festively through the severed branches of Norwegian Pines and bulky red bows which now hung heavy and saturated. The wet sidewalks reflected the light and prisms of white and silver lit up the darkness.

Once-upon-a-time the cold wouldn’t have bothered him, a long time ago it had seeped deeply into his bones and trickled through his veins like gelatinous blood. The coldness slowly became his normal until he didn’t consider being anything else. His winters in Germany and Russia, followed by cryofreeze, had done that to him; removed any familiar feelings of warmth until the coldness had become a state of being.

The last few years he had become pampered and far less poetic compared to his time as the Winter Soldier. Tony Stark had joked that he had become a princess and every so often, during one of these ribbings, Bucky would allow a small smile to tug at his lips. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps these days he preferred a scalding bath whenever the memories of the cold would clawingly return to him; and perhaps he liked the feeling of cashmere against his skin when the familiar scent of heavy leather invaded his nostrils and the tinkling of icy buckles rang in his ears.

His heavy boots moved silently as he tailed his mark, ghosting through puddles and slushy mounds of snow cleared from doorways. He didn’t have to be so silent, but it was a force of habit. Cars still swept the street, their lights creating elongated shadows of pedestrians as they glided by; back to their warm suburban homes or on to an evening out. The windows of restaurant were a buzz of activity, bathed in golden light as patrons laughed heartily over their glasses of Merlot and speared pieces of over-priced steak on dainty silver forks.

He skulked in the darkened doorway of a closed toy store as his mark stopped to survey the restaurant scene. He angled his body so he could continue his surveillance; he paid fleeting attention to the carved wooden toys being displayed but he couldn’t help but wonder if people still bought these types of things for their children. Now-a-days was it not all plastic tat and videogames? He didn’t think that anyone cared these days about the carved wooden music box in the corner with the intricately engraved snowdrop flowers, or the varnished trainset which was so much fancier than anything Bucky could have wished for as a child.

They moved on again. Meandering up the street until the din of loud music could be heard in the air; a printed sign held up with ropes against the railings proclaimed a high school winter formal and somewhere beyond that was the excited chatter and laughter of young teenage voices. The mark scaled a low wall and crept along until a suitable vantage point was found; concealed partially by the thick branches of an evergreen and far enough away that the streetlights didn’t completely illuminate her.

She was beautiful, he thought to himself. She looked like his mother had when she was younger; her nose rounded, her cheeks, her chin. Her dark hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail which curled and frizzed with the dampness around them. She reached into her jacket pocket, a jacket much to thin to ward away the chill of the winter night, and pulled out a protein bar; the wrapper rustled as she tore it open with her gloveless fingers, she broke off the end and nibbled at it savouringly. 

* * *

The cold was something she was used to; it wasn’t something which she ever really thought about but she had learned quickly that not complying with the status quo would get you noticed. So she tugged on her dark green jacket and zipped it all the way up. She had copied her outfit from a girl she saw in the street one day; clumpy ankle boots, tight jeans and her dark green jacket. It made her blend in more than her old black leather pants and jacket ever did; she no longer noticed the annoyed stares from women and the coy smiles from men. Most evenings she would wonder the streets, passing her time by watching people and observing what they were doing; tonight, she didn’t have the luxury of time, she had plans. She dropped by a small bottega, there were a half dozen other customers and when she slipped a few peanut butter protein bars into her pocket it went wholly unnoticed. She left again quietly and carried on her way.

She took her favourite route, up past the restaurants and shops; the little twinkling lights strung around her like stars in the sky and she didn’t think there would ever be a place as magical as Portland. Where she lived in Russia now seemed so barren and desolate; before it had been home, regardless of its concrete walls and rusting metal doors which creaked shrilly with every turn of a lock or a handle or a hinge. The Portland street was still busy, she preferred it this way, it made her feel less alone. Silly really when the reason why she was alone now was because she had chosen to be.

She still wasn't sure how she had managed to earn her freedom, somewhere in the dismantling of Hydra the bunker she was being trained in had become long forgotten. A small group of six assassins had found their way free, her being one of them. The others had been irrational, angry and unpredictable and it hadn’t taken long for her to realise that her only chance of survival was to distance herself from them entirely and to get as far away from Russia as possible. She had never really been like them, she had been a science project gone wrong, instead of an injection of serum she had been a biological experiment created from Hydra's first super soldier.

She had never been as strong or as fast as them or as easily controlled as them, but Hydra had tried to train and control her regardless. The others had all been human beings in their own right, they each had a past and they each had a family; she had been bred in captivity.

She stopped, watching from across the street as a family of four ate dinner in of the restaurants; the mother tucking a crisp white napkin into the collar of a child’s dress. She idly wondered if they had a dog at home; they seemed so perfect. She didn’t have time for this, not tonight, she needed to be somewhere, so she carried on. She had walked this route many times and her feet knew where to take her; she found this building weeks ago and it was teaming with people her age. She had watched from across the street as they all filed in in organised chaos, books clutched under their arms and backpacks slung over their shoulders; she had surveyed them curiously as they all scattered at the ringing of a bell. She visited here every day since.

Tonight they were having a party. She stuck to the shadows, pulling herself onto a low wall and crawled along it on her hands and knees until she could hide behind a bushy tree still covered in green. Her palms were muddy from the grit and the knees of her jeans soaked but she didn’t really notice or care. She could hear the music, the voice of a female singer, and the beat of bass which she could feel reverberate through the wall. Her stomach grumbled noisily and she tore open one of her peanut butter bars; she didn’t have much so she ate it slowly, enjoying the salty sweetness as it danced along her tongue.

She watched in awe, the corners of her mouth twitch upwards in a sad smile, their dresses long and glittery and coming in a rainbow of colours; they wobbled precariously in sandals with heels to high and too strappy to be either comfortable or practical. They shrieked with giggles and threw their arms around their friends in delight. Their hair had been coiffed, curled and hairsprayed and their faces made up with bold lips and smoky eyes, their jewellery over the top and glitzy.

She watched one girl with dark hair and dark eyes; she wore a floor length emerald dress and high gold shoes and a fluffy black jacket she looked like she’d wrestled an emu for. Her parents helped her from the back of their car and she smiled widely as she posed for picture after picture; eventually she whined that she was missing the dance. She wondered what it would be like to trade places with the girl in the green dress; to have parents bother her with so many pictures that she couldn’t get to her dance. Would she be whiny and moan at them too, or would she humour them and bask for as long as she could in their seemingly never-ending attention? 

She wondered what it would be like to put on that dress and have her mother stand behind her and curl her hair. To have her parents wrap their arms around her and give her a peck on the cheek and wish her a lovely night.

She shivered in the cold, a dull ache filled her chest and a stray tear bloomed from the corner of her eye. 

She would never be the girl in the emerald dress

Eventually they all disappeared inside, their parents calling at them to have fun and be careful and before she knew it the parking lot was empty and she was alone again.

She slipped down from the wall and headed home; through the park she playfully wobbled along a low wooden fence as she used it as a balance beam. The wind whipped at her damp hair and nipped her face as she took a brief shot on the swings; the seat of her jeans now as wet as her knees. She flopped back and let her hair drag along the murky ground and watched the world from upside down. Eventually she moved on, clambering up the fire escape until she reached the rooftop with its abandoned greenhouse; a roof terrace long forgotten. Rotten wood and peeling paint and dirty glass which let in the sunlight whenever it dared to not rain. This was the oasis in the middle of Portland which she had called home.

* * *

He should have taken her at the school, nobody had been around and the music would have been too loud had there been a struggle; nobody would of heard them. Regardless, he could have easily overpowered her; Steve was here too, lurking somewhere out of sight.

The park was in darkness, the sign at the entrance proclaimed it was past their closing hours but he watched her play; it had almost been carefree but after the glistening of her tears under the streetlight he knew differently. But, she was a child soldier, trained to kill, a far cry from the teenager who was winding her legs around the ropes of the swing so she could dangle upside down. He had read her file and he knew who she was and what she was; a genetic experiment which didn’t quite work but also sort of did. She wasn’t as strong as those injected with the serum; she would never win in hand-to-hand combat so she had made a wise choice when she had left the others.

The others had been rogue, they had committed violent crimes and drew attention to themselves; they had to be hunted down and stopped, some had died in the fighting whilst others they had managed to wrangle in to custody. The girl was the only one left; she had evaded them for months and somehow managed to make it to the States, a fleeting glance at a CCTV camera had eventually tracked her down.

He watched her patiently as she knelt on the floor of the greenhouse her head lowered as she carefully ripped the image of a snowdrop from the glossy pages of a magazine. He would wait until she realised she was not alone; the time had come to bring her in and he let out a quiet sigh.

She stilled, the ripping of paper halted in the stillness of the evening; even the rain had, for a brief interlude, stopped pattering down on the glass roof. She spun on the ground and looked up at him in fright.

Those eyes. She had inherited those straight from him and they penetrated deep into his soul. 

She didn’t speak but she swallowed thickly.

“Hey,” he murmured gravely.

She blinked, “have you come to kill me?” she asked softly. It was the first time he had heard her speak and the lilting Russian accent made him smile; it was a far cry from the rest of the Barnes’ Brooklyn drawl.

“I’ve not come to kill you,” he clarified; he meant it. It would not be his intention, but he also knew that if she turned out to be as homicidal as the others he may be left with little choice. “May I come in?” he asked.

She slowly rose to her feet and gave him an uncertain nod as she backed away; her snowdrop picture crumpling slightly in her nervous hands. He noted how young she looked, she was still a child really and yet here she was, cast out into the world with nothing and nobody. She had tried to make the greenhouse comfortable; she had festooned the rusting nails which protruded from the woodwork with lots of strands of twinkling fairy lights which cast a warm golden glow and reflected against the glass. She had started a collage of flower images and stuck them overlapping along the wooden frame; it wasn’t finished yet if the white floral picture in her hands was anything to go by. 

A couple of pallets made up the base of her bed; they were topped with a thick layer of spongy foam and a few blankets and scatter cushions. Above her bed she had tacked more pictures cut from magazines adverts; he recognised a couple of them. One was for vitamins and showed a family laughing as they ran over a grassy lawn with a gold retriever; another was for taco meal kit which illustrated a family enjoying dinner around the table. He stopped looking after that; his chest ached, these were the images she looked at before she closed her eyes at night. It made sense, the family in the restaurant and the girl in the green dress. A life she had never known but somehow longed for it above everything else.

His fingers brushed the security tag of one of her blankets and he toyed with it silently.

“I couldn’t get this off,” she told him nervously, her gentle voice quivering.

He tapped it with the tip of his finger, “I think the people at the cash desk are meant to remove them once you pay for them.”

It was a subtle reprimand on his part and he watched as her cheeks heated and she looked away, scolded. He instantly felt bad.

“I like all the lights,” he offered, trying to change the subject.

Her eyes light up and she looked up at them fondly, “I did it myself,” she told him. A hint of pride evident in her voice.

“They’re very pretty,” he told her as he smiled at her. “We should go soon though; would you like to take them with you?”

Her soft smile faded and her eyes welled with tears; the snowdrops crushed in her hands and she gave a small shake of her head.

“They should stay here,” she told him quietly, “for the next person who needs them.”

She paused, “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” her voice tearful, “if you want me to do that, can you kill me now, please?”

“I don’t want you to hurt anyone,” he murmured. “You won’t hurt anyone, and nobody will hurt you. Not anymore.”


End file.
